On Saturday, I left the hospital around 5pm and went home. I worked for an hour. I wandered around the house grumbling about how much I needed to clean but I couldn’t bring myself to do a single bit of cleaning. I was just too tired.
At 6:30, I headed into town to pick Michelle up from work. I was early so she fed me a black bean taco and a coke. One of the owners of the restaurant walked in. I was introduced and I got the "She’s a good kid" comment.
Generally, when someone says "She’s a good kid" I smile and nod and wonder why we always say that sort of thing to parents. Isn’t there something else we could say or should say? Something more meaningful? Or something more individual?
But on Saturday, when restaurant owner X said "She’s a good kid" – it hit me that she really IS a good kid. I mean obviously I already knew that, but in that moment of exhaustion and stress, it was really nice to be reminded of it.
Michelle is a good kid.
I lived at the hospital, from Thursday well into Sunday. I saw Michelle briefly on Thursday evening. I saw her on Friday morning when I took her to school and again when I picked her up. I saw her on Saturday when I took her to work and again when I picked her up again. I’m guessing I saw her a total of 90 minutes in 3 1/2 days and most of that was in the car.
Michelle got her schoolwork done. She fed herself. She went to work. She hung out with friends. She scrubbed the walls upstairs and on the stairwell. I’m not positive, but I think she even cleaned the upstairs bathroom.
She’s a good kid and I’m really lucky. It was nice to be reminded of that at just the right time this weekend.